


All Right, the Panic Recedes

by Jo_busch_got_booty



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Season 1 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_busch_got_booty/pseuds/Jo_busch_got_booty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor thinks about what he did the same way he thinks about the first time he had sex with Oliver. There were no intentions behind it (except there were), and it was the only option (except it wasn't). And then he thinks about how it played out, and he cringes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Right, the Panic Recedes

Connor thinks about what he did the same way he thinks about the first time he had sex with Oliver. There were no intentions behind it (except there were), and it was the only option (except it wasn't). And then he thinks about how it played out, and he cringes. He grabs another beer instead of dwelling on it. 

 

Then there are the images he can't get out of his mind. Oliver is one of them-- Oliver on the bed, head in his hand, Oliver shoving his clothes into his arms, Oliver pushing him out of the apartment. 

 

There’s Paxton. Confrontational Paxton, apologetic Paxton,  _ falling  _ Paxton. 

 

Connor takes a swig of his drink, lets it sit in his mouth, doesn't swallow it right away. He doesn't even like this brand.

 

His mind goes back to Oliver, thinks of arguments better than “I  _ actually _ like you”, thinks of ways to swallow his own tongue so he can't speak. No, no. He thinks of ways to have his foot surgically removed from his mouth. 

 

He thinks that it was just for work (except that's what he said about Oliver), thinks about how they never made promises, never vowed devotion, or love-- monogamy.

 

He tries not to think about the voice recording on his phone, or looking out of the window, or seeing the blood (so much blood), and he tries to tell himself that neither occasions were his fault. 

 

Ollie was overreacting. Paxton made his own decision. 

 

Connor got played. 

 

And he considers consequences over beer after beer, and he calls Oliver because that's what he can think to do, and of course Oliver doesn't answer and Connor feels stuck. 

 

He finishes his beer, thinks about calling someone-- checking Grindr, maybe, but when he unlocks his phone it opens on Oliver’s contact, and he decides he just wants to sleep. 

 

\--

 

Oliver’s wide awake. He thinks about it, too. He thinks about Connor, and the voice recording, and throwing his boyfriend out into the hall in just his underwear. 

 

And then he wonders if he  _ is  _ making a bigger deal out of this than it is, and then the words “I  _ actually  _ like you,” come to mind and he recoils. 

 

No, he decides, this is a big deal. 

 

That’s why it  _ wasn’t  _ a big deal when he grabbed a guy- any guy- from the bar. Maybe he was tall, or beautiful, or maybe he was inexperienced and clumsy. Oliver can't remember, but he remembers sinking into himself. 

 

He remembers thinking about Connor. Connor, with this confident smirk, a little bit of his stubble, his laugh. Connor, who couldn't keep his hands off of Oliver, who was so sure of himself, who knew he was good (so good). And he thinks, again, that maybe Connor wasn't all that wrong, but the guy he took home is falling asleep on his pillow and Oliver decides to forget. 

 

He goes to work the next day, and the thought of Connor slides in seductively, and his phone rings so often that he turns it off. 

 

When he passes an animal shelter on the way home, he considers adopting a guard dog. 

 

\--

 

Connor thinks about it over a pool of Sam Keating’s blood. He wonders if this job is worth it, considers the consequences of sneaking away and calling the cops, wonders what Oliver would say. 

 

He flips a coin and let's it choose his fate, lets carpet fibers get wedged in the seats, and he cracks joke after joke while Michaela whines about how her life is ruined, and he thinks about Ollie. 

 

He thinks about him when he takes a shovel to a body they're about to burn. Realizes he wants to be wrapped up in Oliver’s sheets, safe, and warm, and not covered in blood (because there was a lot of blood), or standing in the middle of the woods where they're about to  _ burn  _ a  _ body.  _ And he considers asking if this was a rite of passage for all defense lawyers-- maybe you know how to defend murderers because you  _ are  _ one-- but instead he asks if anyone else wants a turn chopping up the corpse, and he aims the question at Michaela. 

 

He isn't sure how he ends up at Oliver’s door. He manages to wipe away the blood, but his hands are still shaking, and when Oliver tells him he smells like smoke, he can't even think of a response. 

 

Instead, he collapses in the hallway like a petulant child, and he can't breathe, and he tears at his hair, and then there's a hand on his shoulder, and someone helping him into the apartment. Connor leans on Oliver like a crutch, thinks about how unfair this is, wonders if he has any coffee on the pot, thinks about Sam Keating’s remains scattered in garbage cans. 

 

“Connor, hey, can you breathe for me?” And Oliver is almost begging, and he takes Connor’s hands out of his hair gently, and Connor feels heavy. “We’ll figure this out, but you need to calm down, okay?” 

 

And Oliver, patient, loving Oliver, waits it out. 

 

“We’ll figure it out.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was from a Tumblr prompt (My tumblr is @Big-B-Gwinnett if you want to send me anything). And the title is from Nobody Needs to Know from the Last Five Years.


End file.
